


I can't marry him

by PrettyCalypso



Category: Shameless (US)
Genre: (maybe), 7x11, Character Death, Future Fic, Gangs and drug cartels, Grief/Mourning, Implied violence and murder, Implied/Referenced Bipolar Disorder, M/M, Marriage, Please Don't Hate Me, Post 7x12, Sexual Content, Usual Shameless swearing, canon compliant (sort of), proposal
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2017-06-01
Updated: 2017-09-24
Packaged: 2018-11-07 16:58:39
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 8
Words: 14,779
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/11063244
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/PrettyCalypso/pseuds/PrettyCalypso
Summary: Over two years after 7x12, Ian panics when he thinks his boyfriend is going to propose to him.





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> This mini-fic was inspired by [this summary](https://img4.hostingpics.net/pics/4881047x12SummaryIMDb.jpg) that was posted on IMDb before 7x11 aired (summary that was later deleted). It's a short story that had been nagging me for a while and that might (or might not, I'm not sure yet) be part of a bigger installment.

 

Ian closed the door behind himself, slamming it a little. He had ran home in South Side as a reflex, without knowing who would be there, and as he turned around he came face to face with Fiona and Lip, sitting on the couch and looking up at him in surprise. They didn't say anything – probably picking up on their brother's agitation – and silently waited for him to explain his presence in the Gallagher house. He had moved out almost a year ago and was rarely there ever since, only making his way down to North Wallace for family meetings or dinners once in a while. He paced between the door and the couch for a few seconds, sighing loudly. He stopped and ran a hand over his face.

 

“He's going to propose.” he finally breathed out.

 

Fiona sat up straighter and smiled.

 

“That's great sweetie!” she exclaimed.

 

Ian glared at his older sister darkly.

 

“Or not...” she deflated. “What's going on?”

 

Ian sighed again.

 

“I didn't think... I didn't think the idea would even cross his mind!”

 

“He's a preppy doctor.” Lip chipped in. “And you've been together for almost two years, it seemed pretty obvious it would cross his mind.”

 

“But he's south side!” Ian almost yelled. “What kind of south side gay guy thinks about marriage so soon?”

 

“Well they can't all be Mickey Milkovich.” Lip snickered.

 

Ian froze, and if looks could kill, his brother would be dead on the spot. Fiona stood up and ran a soothing hand on Ian's arms.

 

“What's going on?” she asked softly.

 

Ian hung his hand low. He was certain his siblings wouldn't understand, but he needed to vent, he needed to talk about it.

 

“I didn't think it would last.” he admitted lowly.

 

“With Tom?”

 

“Yes.” Ian groaned. “I thought it would be like with Caleb or Trevor, he would either cheat on me, or I would screw things up. We're Gallaghers for fuck's sakes, we're bad at love and relationships, it's a known fact!”

 

Fiona chuckled, but Ian didn't. He was serious. Maybe he hadn't realized it at first, maybe it was unconscious, but he had never planned to live 'happily ever after' with Tom – the nice doctor he had met while driving a patient to the hospital – like he had never planned to live 'happily ever after' with Caleb or Trevor, and he had always been secretly hoping his Gallagher genes would screw things up for him before it went too far.

 

“Well maybe things are changing and it's your turn to be happy.” Fiona declared with a smile.

 

Ian shook his head.

 

“I... I can't.”

 

It was Lip's turn to stand, walking around the coffee table to place himself on the other side of his brother, placing a firm hand between his shoulder blades.

 

“You're not Monica, Ian.” he said gently. “You won't end up like her.”

 

Ian laughed this time, actually laughed and detached himself from his siblings.

 

“I know.” he chuckled. “That's not the problem. I just can't marry Tom.”

 

Fiona and Lip both looked at him with incomprehension.

 

“Why?”

 

“Cause I'm already married.”

 

***

 

_“This is fucking stupid.”_

_“No, come on, it's important to me.”_

_“Yeah, and I don't fucking understand why!”_

_Ian looked down at his hands resting on his laps, avoiding Mickey's eyes and the way they glanced between him and the road at a regular pace._

_“I was an asshole when you suggested it the other time...”_

_“I suggested fuck all.” Mickey scoffed. “You know it's not what I meant.”_

_Ian smiled. It was totally what Mickey meant. But now wasn't the time to dig deeper into this wound and into Mickey's insecurities._

_“Still, I was an asshole.” Ian continued. “And I want to correct that mistake.”_

_Mickey didn't answer, fixing his eyes on the road._

_“Plus if the feds haul your ass back to prison I want to be allowed conjugal visits.” Ian joked, looking back up at Mickey with a playful smile on his lips._

_Mickey punched his shoulder lightly with a matching smile._

_“Oh, thanks for believing in me and my plan, you dick!”_

_They shared a laugh for a moment, before the silence came back heavier than before in the stolen car. Ian hadn't detached his eyes from Mickey's profile, watching the way he bit his bottom lip nervously._

_“Please.” the redhead said softly._

Please let me prove how much I love you, let me promise to be yours and only yours not matter what happens when we reach the Mexican border.

_Mickey glanced back at him, his big blue eyes filled with worry, love, and something else Ian couldn't decipher._

_“Okay. Let's do this.” he conceded. “But I'm not wearing a fucking ring.”_

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> EDIT (for those asking): this fic follows canon (and what happened in 7x11 and 7x12) except I imagined that there is a 7x11 deleted scene in which Ian and Mickey got married. So Ian still left Mickey at the border and sort of moved on while Mickey is in Mexico.


	2. Chapter 2

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> This is a chapter of flashbacks, flashbacks to 7x11 and flashbascks to what happened after. I hope you won't get lost.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Look who decided to continue this story? ;)

 

_“It's not... This isn't me anymore... I'm sorry.”_

 

 

Ian wasn't regretting it. He wasn't regretting leaving Mickey at the border. He knew it had been the right decision. His life was in Chicago, where he had a good job, a job he loved, a job that made him happy, and where he lived with his family, his family he wasn't completely ready to leave just yet, no matter how fucked up and dysfunctional they were. Right now his life was in Chicago. And he wasn't regretting leaving Mickey at the border. But he was missing him.

 

_“You ever think about me? When I was in the joint?”_

_“A lot.”_

_He had been thinking about Mickey more than he ever wanted to. When he was with Caleb, when he was with Trevor, he thought about Mickey. He had kept some of his clothes and wore them when nobody noticed. He thought about Mickey when his meds were finally balanced, he thought about Mickey when he went back to school, he thought about Mickey when he started his new job and when he stood up to Rita to be able to keep it. He thought about how proud and happy Mickey would be if he could see him. He avoided Svetlana and Yevgeny as much as he possibly could, but every time he saw them he thought about Mickey. Mickey was always on his mind, somewhere in the back, in the box labeled 'do not open'. And he opened the box more often than not._

_“Fuck, I missed you.”_

_Ian smiled. He had missed him too. He kept looking up at the full moon and the dark sky, and another night came to mind, another night with a much younger Mickey, a younger Mickey who thought that 'spreading a blanket out and looking for shooting stars' was probably the gayest thing they could have done. And Ian chuckled at the memory. 'You ever think, back in the day, this is where we'd be?' Younger Ian had hoped they would, eventually, one day, break the 'spread a blanket out and look for shooting stars' rule, but he would have also wanted to do it in very different circumstances, circumstances in which they wouldn't be on the run from the feds._

 

_“What you're laughing at?”_

 

_“Nothing.”_

 

_Mickey turned his head back to Ian and his eyebrows raised a little. Ian shook his head lightly with a small smile._

 

_“I was just thinking about you, after your first time in juvie, when we were at the baseball field, finding the idea of 'spreading a blanket out and looking for shooting stars' completely ridiculous.”_

_Mickey smiled too, looking back up the sky._

_“I wanted nothing more than to do just that at the time.”_

 

_“I know.” Ian stated softly. “You've always been the romantic one, contrary to what people think.”_

 

_“Fuck off.”_

 

_The words had no bite and made Ian smile bigger. He flicked the butt of his cigarette away in the sand, and set his beer bottle somewhere next to the blanket, turning on his side to do the same with Mickey's bottle. Mickey seemed to understand immediately what was happening as he reached for Ian's waist, sliding a couple of fingers in the belt loops of his jeans, and his other hand under his shirt. Ian placed his legs on each side of Mickey's hips and straddled him, positioning his hands around Mickey's face, bringing their foreheads together._

 

_“I missed you too.”_

 

 

Fiona closed the door behind herself, her heavy set of keys jangling loudly in her hand. She dropped an envelop on Ian's laps. He had been sitting in front of the TV since he came back from work, watching old Batman cartoons with Liam, both of them eating mac and cheese out of kids' plastic bowls. Fiona was barely there these days, sharing her time between her apartment complex and Patsy's Pies, and only coming back to the house to sleep and shower. This time again, she headed straight upstairs, only acknowledging vaguely her younger siblings with a quick “hey guys”. Ian finished his bowl and set it on the coffee table, his attention leaving the TV to focus on the letter he had received. It was his bank offering him a new credit card if he decided to open a new and improved account. They had called him non-stop for forty-eight hours after he had cleaned his account a couple of months ago, until he had finally answered and reassured them his card hadn't been stolen. Liam laughed at something that was happening on TV, and Ian looked back up at the screen. He would deal with his bank later.

 

_Ian could see him staring. He could see Mickey staring at the envelop full of cash on the dashboard. He knew that Mickey was wondering if Ian would regret it one day, in an hour, or if he was already regretting it. He wanted to reassure him, but he himself wasn't sure. He wasn't regretting it yet, but he didn't know if he wouldn't regret it one day. He couldn't make any promises, even if he really fucking wished he could. It wasn't a complete spur-of-the-moment thing, he had thought about it for at least a few hours before, and when the teller had asked him to confirm, the answer had been obvious. He was doing it for Mickey. Mickey, his man, the love of his life, his ride or die. And no matter what would happen in an hour when they reached the border, or two years from now, he wanted Mickey to have what he needed to start fresh, to build a new life, even if Ian wasn't in it. Not that he didn't want to be with Mickey for the rest of his life. He was just... Maybe he was starting to have some doubts. At first the idea of driving with Mickey to Mexico had been more than appealing, it had seemed like the only answer, the only thing he was supposed to do. Now though, he was starting to miss his family, to miss his life, he was starting to think of how stupid this idea was, how he was going to end up in jail or worse. He loved Mickey, he really did, but this trip was soon becoming too much on Ian, reminding him of the old Ian, of the person he had worked so hard to escape from. He knew Mickey would never let him go back to work in a strip club, do drugs, or even get off his meds, but he was afraid he would lose the control he finally had over his life, the control he was just starting to get use to..._

 

_“We should stop somewhere for the night, man.”_

 

_Ian snapped out of his thoughts at Mickey's voice, and he nodded, looking around for a nice place to spend the night._

 

 

Ian pushed open the door of the emergency entrance at the County General Hospital, dragging the gurney behind himself. Sue was on the other side, pushing it and keeping the oxygen in place on the patient's face. The medical staff was already hurrying toward them.

 

“James Schaeffer.” Ian announced. “Fifteen years old. Horsing around a construction site, fell from the second floor, got impaled on a strip of rebar. We cut it at the site. He's in shock, pulse 140 and thready, BP 50 over 30.”

 

The doctors and nurses took charge of the patient, leading the gurney toward a trauma room, relieving Ian and Sue of their task and leaving them alone in the hall after having asked all the questions the two EMTs could answer. Sue stretched her arms and released a deep breath.

 

“What about I'm buying you coffee, Gallagher?” she suggested, already walking back toward the entrance.

 

Ian nodded with a smile, and started to follow her when a familiar voice called him from the front desk.

 

“Hey Ian! Wait up!”

 

The redhead turned around to see a tall, blond guy in doctor's scrubs running toward him. Tom. A third year med student with whom Ian had shared a cigarette once and who hadn't stopped asking him on dates ever since – dates that Ian kept refusing.

 

“Tom.” Ian smiled politely. “How are you doing?”

 

The man seemed happy of the attention Ian was giving him, and the redhead thought for a second that maybe he should give in for once, go on a date with him, 'get back on the horse' as Lip would say. But the thought escaped his mind as soon as Tom opened his mouth again, suggesting going out for drinks.

 

“Sorry man.” Ian apologized lamely. “I don't have much time lately. And I'm still on the clock, gotta go!”

 

And with that he waved Tom goodbye and met Sue by the ambulance. He knew exactly what his partner thought of the guy, that he was hot and that Ian should go for it, and he dismissed her disapproving expression with a small smile. Sue shook her head, before crossing the street to buy them both coffee at the Jumbo Mart, Ian following close behind.

 

 

_Mickey had his hands flat on the dirty, green metal as Ian was pumping into him, gripping his hips tight. There was nobody but them for miles in this desert place, and they were fucking outside like old times, like when they were sneaking out between school and a shift at the Kash and Grab, like when they weren't sharing a bed every night, like when they weren't a real couple. Ian's stomach suddenly tightened. He didn't want to fuck Mickey like some random guy in a dark alley, he didn't want Mickey to be just an ass, using him to get off without caring about his face and name. He wanted to see Mickey's beautiful eyes, he wanted to see his frowning features when he came, he wanted to be able to kiss his lips as many times as he wished. He pulled out, eliciting a wince from Mickey._

_“The fuck man?” he grunted just as Ian was turning him around so they were face to face._

_His scowl disappeared almost immediately and he gripped Ian's neck, crashing their lips together and kissing him messily. Ian slid his hands under Mickey's ass and lifted him to sit him on the hood of the car, not breaking the kiss. Mickey gripped Ian's hair, keeping him close as he moaned into his mouth. Their erections were rubbing together now, and Ian couldn't take it any longer, he needed to be back inside Mickey. He broke the kiss, and Mickey understood, laying on his back on the hood of the car as Ian grabbed his ankles and brought his legs up against his chest, pushing his dick back inside Mickey's ass. Mickey smiled when he felt the small stretch, and Ian laughed. He wasn't sure what he had done to deserve to be this happy in that instant._

 

 

Ian's phone rang just as he saw Liam coming out of his school. He smiled and waved at his little brother with one hand while picking up his phone with the other.

 

“Yo man, I need you to babysit Lucas.” Lip's voice said as a way of introduction.

 

“Uh... Hello to you too.” Ian replied. “And why do I have to babysit Lucas? I barely know the kid!”

 

“Cause I've been way too busy with school lately, and I finally have a free weekend.” Lip explained, breathing through his cigarette. “But if Sierra and I want a little intimacy we need to find Lucas another place to sleep. His father is a deadbeat piece of shit, and Sierra is still mad at Debbie for kicking her out, so the burden falls on you. You're already taking care of Liam anyway, right?”

 

Ian sighed, running a hand across his face and rolling his eyes.

 

“Yeah, I guess it won't change much. And Lucas is a cool kid. When are you dropping him off?”

 

“When are you at home?” Lip asked back, eager, making Ian laugh.

 

“I'm just picking Liam off from school, so I guess about ten minutes?”

 

“I'll be there.”

 

And with that Lip disconnected the call.

 

“Great.”

 

 

_“You ever went to see the kid?”_

_“Yevgeny?”_

_“Yeah.”_

_Mickey was looking away, staring at the landscape through the window, avoiding Ian's eyes, and the redhead knew Mickey felt embarrassed to admit he actually cared about his son. He wasn't supposed to care, considering the circumstances, and because he didn't have the best role models for caring parents – not that Ian's parents were better, but at least he had Fiona, and Kev and V._

_“I've seen him a few times.” Ian admitted lowly. “But the situation's complicated, Svetlana being with Kev and V, and their weird thrupple marriage. Plus I...”_

_It was his turn to avoid Mickey's eyes._

_“It was hard. I couldn't help seeing you when I saw him. And... what I did. Svet didn't really let me forget.”_

_“She's a bitch.” Mickey sighed._

_“But she's his mother. It's her job to worry about him.”_

_“Still a commie cunt.”_

_Ian rolled his eyes and laughed lightly._

_“Yevgeny is growing up fast.” he finally informed Mickey. “And he seems happy. He's talking now. Still a cute kid.”_

The postcard arrived about six months after Ian had decided to not follow Mickey to Mexico and to come back to Chicago. A humorous drawing of a pin-up in a glass of tequila at the beach and the words 'Look what I fell into' on one side, and, on the other side, a simple 'Fuck you' written angrily across the card. Mickey had two types of 'fuck you' when it came to Ian: the usual pissed off 'fuck you' he also served to everyone else, and the most intimate 'I love you' 'fuck you'. This card could have been ambiguous, but it looked more like the first one. Mickey was actually and truly mad, and Ian couldn't exactly blame him. He gave the card another good look, he was ready to do something stupid, like call Mexico, and not only blowing up his phone plan, but also risking the feds to trace his call (he wasn't sure they actually monitored him, but better safe than sorry). He wanted to talk to Mickey, he wanted to apologize again, he wanted to explain himself, but he also knew from the card that Mickey was far from ready to listen, so he put the card away, just as he received a text.

 

 

> [From Tom] We're still on for tonight?

 


	3. Chapter 3

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Song I listened on repeat while writing this chapter https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=D5drYkLiLI8  
> It fits Gallavich a little too much for my taste...
> 
> Also, my Spanish is a little rusty, and it comes from the Spain-Spanish I learned in high school, a loooong time ago, so if any of you out there speak Mexico-Spanish and wants to correct my mistakes go for it! :)

 

Mickey was angry all the time. Mexico was too fucking hot and too fucking sunny. The beach was stupid, the sand was getting stuck in his toes, and his pale as fuck skin kept getting sunburned; and he didn't know how to fucking swim, so what was the point?  
  
  
He spent the first few weeks drinking Ian's money away, and having his ass sat on his favorite stool in his favorite bar every day earned him a job as a bartender. The owner was desperate for a replacement when his barman left unexpectedly, and Mickey was there. He had some experience from working with Kev (or rather, watching Kev work) at the Alibi, and it wasn't that hard of a job (plus he could drink more or less at will). But he hated the fucking American tourists, and he was always a little afraid one of them would be from Chicago and had heard about him. So he left the touristic beach town for another smaller one more isolated inside the land.

 

He found a job in a scrubby garage in a modest rural town. There wasn't a lot of work, but the pay was decent and the owner didn't talk much. It was good enough for Mickey. The longest conversation they had was about two months in, when the owner (Pedro) asked:

 

“Do you have a... _una chica_ back home?”

 

“I'm married.” Mickey answered without really knowing why.

 

Or maybe he did know. He was married to Ian fucking Gallagher and he wanted to shout it from the rooftop. Yet, even his marriage with Svetlana felt more real somehow. At least, with her, they lived under the same roof (much to Mickey's dislike back then), here Ian and him didn't even live in the same country!

 

“Was she _bonita_ when you marry?”

 

“Very.”

 

 

“ _This is fucking stupid.” Mickey kept repeating as Ian searched for a place who would marry them_ in fucking Texas _. Of course, they were legally allowed, so technically nobody could refuse them the right, but it was Texas for Christ's sakes!_

 

_Mickey would be lying if he said he never thought he would marry Ian one day. To be honest, he dreamed about that almost every night at one point in their life, when they were the ones in a weird little thrupple with Svetlana, when they had a family and were happy. But this dream crashed a first time when Ian took Yevgeny on his impromptu road trip, it crashed a second time when he saw Ian so out of it in the psych ward, it kept crashing from the moment Sammy called the fucking MPs to this frozen morning on the porch of the Gallagher house, and it burned into flames the last time Ian visited him in jail._

 

_The car stopped in front of the courthouse of a medium Texan town. Ian switched the engine off and turned on his seat._

 

“ _You're sure you're okay with it?”_

 

_Mickey looked up at him, at his beautiful green eyes, his million of faded freckles, and his red hair going wild on top of his head. Fuck, this man –_ his _man – was gorgeous. And Mickey smiled._

 

“ _Yeah, I'm okay with it.”_

 

 

The first guy Mickey fucked in Mexico was eyeing him too intensely in his favorite bar. He was a kid who was probably as young as Gallagher when he first barged into Mickey's bedroom with a tire iron, but Mickey didn't care. He fucked him hard and fast in a dirty bathroom stall, taking too long to come and not enjoying it as much as he hoped he would, and he didn't let him suck his dick.

 

 

“ _Fuck that feels so good.” Ian sighed, and Mickey sat up on his elbows, eyebrows raised, half mad that the redhead had stopped mid-blow job, and half surprised by the declaration._

 

“ _Haven't been sucking dick lately? I thought you had a boyfriend.”_

 

_Ian huffed and shook his head._

 

“ _Caleb's HIV positive so he didn't let me suck his dick without a rubber, it gets old very quickly. And Trev's trans so no dick to suck.”_

 

“ _Shit.” Mickey breathed._

 

_The idea that Ian had had two serious boyfriends since him still hurt, but knowing this piece of information filled Mickey with surprising relief. At least Ian had missed something with them, something he could have with Mickey._

 

“ _So when was the last time you did that?” he couldn't help himself but ask, gesturing crudely to his dick that had lost all attention._

 

_Ian pretended to think about it for a second before he answered with a small smile:_

 

“ _Dugouts of the baseball field.”_

 

_Mickey chuckled, trying not to think about this sickening feeling that always accompanied the memories of that night, focusing instead on the little bubble of pride and happiness that grew in his stomach. Ian had clearly not been faithful and waiting for him when Mickey was in prison – not that Mickey hadn't fucked around himself – but somehow the redhead still kinda had, even if not on purpose._

 

“ _What about you?” Ian asked in his turn, sounding genuinely curious._

 

_Mickey laid back down on the cold floor of the van, avoiding Ian's eyes and not telling him he was the only guy who ever suck his dick._

 

“ _Same.” he replied lamely._

 

_From the corner of his eyes, he saw Ian smile brighter, just before he went back down, engulfing Mickey's dick like a pro._

 

 

Mickey was looking at it every day in the mirror before putting his shirt on. The ugly 'Ian Galager' tattoo. He was lucky he had survived the infected needle. Or was he? He hated this fucking thing, he hated that he had been desperate enough to do it (and to suffer through it), and he hated that Ian fucking Galager was miles and miles and miles away. And yet, the decision to cover it, to change it into another tattoo was one of the hardest he ever had to make. After thinking about it for months, he opted for a bad ass tribal drawing and made his way to the only tattoo parlor in town – and useless to say the place was pretty sketchy.

Once he exited the parlor, he went directly to the bar and ordered the most expensive tequila. He drank all night long, until he was drunk enough to stumble back home, the sun already rising in the sky. He only stopped when he walked past a postcard display and his eyes landed on the ugliest and stupidest card. He was drunk, and pissed at both himself and his asshole husband, so he bought it and sent it against his better judgment. He didn't even went all the way home, he found the post office, borrowed a pen, scrambled an angry “Fuck you” across the card, and posted it to an address he knew too well. When he finally made it to his apartment, he collapsed on his bed, and let the tears roll down his cheeks, caressing through the fabric of his shirt, with the tip of his fingers, the two words he hadn't been able to erase from his chest.

 

 

_The fingers crossed his naked chest one more time, tracing each letter carefully, tenderly, and then they were replaced by lips, dropping soft kisses between the ink and the skin. Mickey sat up, reaching for his shirt._

 

“ _Come on, cut that shit.”_

 

_He put the shirt on, covering the ugly tattoo, and he heard Ian sigh. The redhead was still lying on the blanket but he had rolled on his back when Mickey had disentangled himself from the embrace._

 

“ _Why did you do it?” Ian asked, playing with a loose thread of the blanket to avoid looking up at Mickey._

 

_Mickey felt his heart beating a little bit faster. He didn't like being vulnerable, even in front of Ian, and this tattoo was the result of a profound moment of vulnerability. He reached next to him for his pack of cigarettes and lit one, hoping that his silence would stretch long enough for Ian to move on another subject. But the redhead didn't. His eyes left the blanket to search the contact with Mickey's, longing for an answer._

 

“ _What do you want me to tell you man?” Mickey snapped. “That I was a desperate bitch for your ass? Cause I won't. What's done is done. It's a shitty tattoo, get over it!”_

 

_He stood up suddenly, and took a couple of steps toward the car, smoking intensely._

 

“ _I don't think it's shitty.” Ian said lowly, but Mickey pretended he didn't hear him._

 

 

He arrived at work with a hell of a hangover. It wasn't a rare occasion, his boss had seen him like this a couple of times already, but Mickey always felt bad for it. He knew his job would suck today, he knew he would probably make a few mistakes that might be hard to fix, and he hated being such a lousy employee to such a good and comprehensive employer. He engulfed his third cup of coffee of the morning and made his way to the back, to the too-brightly lit little office.

 

“Morning.” he grumbled when his boss greeted him with a large smile.

 

“ _Buenos d_ _í_ _as_ sunshine.”

 

Mickey groaned and went to pour some more coffee in his already empty mug.

 

“So, how is _el esposo_?”

 

Mickey nodded vaguely. It had became a joke between them ever since their first 'real' conversation: every morning Pedro asked Mickey how his wife was doing, and Mickey answered “still in the States”; but this time Mickey froze. Did Pedro just used ' _esposo'_ and not ' _esposa_ '? Mickey turned slowly on his heels to find a shit-eating grin plastered on his boss' face.

 

“Small town. _La gente habla_. And you're... _ruidoso_. Especially when drunk.”

 

Mickey nodded stupidly, and cracked his knuckles around his mug.

 

“And that... That a problem?” he asked, trying to appear threatening, but sounding more uneasy than anything else.

 

“No.” his boss laughed. “ _El corazón quiere lo que quiere._ Love is love, right?”

 

Yeah... Fuck love. And fuck his stupid bitch of a heart.

 


	4. Chapter 4

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> 4th of July themed chapter! ;)

 

_It was fucking hot in Chicago that summer, like the summer before, the A/C in the small store was shit – not to say non-existent – like the summer before, they were hot, sweaty and horny, and, like the summer before, they had decided to meet up on the roof of the old abandoned building. They had installed the obstacle course for Ian's ROTC training on a lower level, and Mickey's target practice in the adjacent edifice. If the high school bleachers were their spot, this was their safe place, their little piece of heaven on Earth where they could fully be themselves and run away from home and their shitty life if needed._

  


_Mickey was already halfway through his cigarette, an open can of beer sitting next to him, when Ian arrived._

  


_"Sorry I'm late, I stopped by the barbecue before coming here."_

  


_Mickey shrugged silently, his way of pretending he didn't care – or at least Ian hoped it was just pretending._

  


_"I snatched a few hot dogs for us." the redhead continued, unphased, taking a large package wrapped in aluminum foil out of his backpack._

  


_The action made Mickey raise his head, and Ian handed him a hot dog, before sitting next to him and grabbing a beer from the open pack on the floor. They ate and drank in comfortable silence for a while, each stealing glances_ _at_ _the other, hoping he wouldn't notice, but failing every time. They smiled a little too much, and enjoyed just being there together, as close as possible to what they could call happiness. Ian opened his mouth, ready to say something, when he was interrupted by the first firework, and it was just as well because he would have probably said something stupid anyway. They both turned their eyes to the sky, and Ian not-so-discreetly moved closer to Mickey, rubbing their knees and shoulders together. Mickey didn't say anything, but didn't break the contact either. They shared a smoke, looking_ _at the show of lights illuminating the night. When the last few rockets exploded, Ian turned his head and just watched the way they lightened Mickey's face. It was beautiful. He was beautiful. Mickey caught his stare, and looked back at him, their faces so close together, a matching smile on their lips._

  


_"Happy 4th of July Mick." Ian whispered, leaning in just a little bit closer._

  


_Mickey pulled away half a second before the kiss, and his smile turned into a smirk._

  


_"You know, it'd make it even happier if you fuck me."_

  


***

  


“That's...” Fiona started after Ian had finished telling his siblings how he had ended up marrying Mickey.

 

“Fucked up.” Lip completed. “You were married all this time and you didn't tell us???”

 

“And you married _Mickey Milkovich_.” Fiona continued. “Are you sure this was the best idea?”

 

“Why?” Ian asked back defensively. “Cause he's not a drug addict or a musician I met two days ago?”

 

“He's got a point.” Lip replied with a smirk.

 

Fiona made a face but didn't add anything. Ian sighed, running a hand over his face, and sat on the armchair.

 

“Do you...” Fiona said again, hesitantly. “Do you still love him?”

 

Ian raised his head to look at her.

 

“Tom or Mickey?”

 

“Mickey.”

 

The redhead smiled.

 

“Never stopped.”

 

“So what are you doing here then?” Lip groaned. “Fuck Ian! Love is complicated enough, there's no point in making it more difficult when you have something good!”

 

Both Fiona and Ian looked at their brother. Lip had been surprisingly growing up these past couple of years, and had become strangely wise when it came to love and relationships. One too many failed relationship and a second trip to rehab will do that to you, or maybe it was just Sierra's positive influence. In any case, Ian smiled and decided, for once, to listen to his brother.

  


***

  


Tom was casually reading on his tablet when Ian came back to their apartment, and the redhead wondered once again how he could have let it go this far, they were living together for fuck's sake!

Tom turned his head and smiled when he heard the door close behind Ian.

  


"Hey. Where have you been? You left hours ago."

  


"Sorry." Ian shook his head, dropping his keys in the bowl near the entrance, and taking his shoes off. "I spent some time at the house with Lip and Fi."

  


"You ran all the way down there?" Tom asked, surprised.

  


"Yeah, I guess." Ian replied, his mind still replaying all the things he had told his siblings. "I'm gonna go take a shower."

  


"Don't be too long." Tom said lightly, his eyes going back to his tablet. "Remember we have a reservation at Everest at 6."

  


This made Ian stop dead on his way to the bathroom. _Oh yeah right, the possible proposal._ He debated with himself for a while, looking at Tom peacefully reading his book, unaware of Ian's turmoil, and thinking about Mickey, wherever he was, still legally bounded to him. He took a couple of steps toward the bathroom, before coming back on his track.

  


"I..."

  


Tom raised his eyes from the tablet once again, looking up at Ian softly, his gentle smile still here, waiting for the redhead to continue his sentence.

  


"I..." Ian repeated.

  


He ran a hand in his hair. It was not really the time, and he never thought he would have to do it that way – or even to do it at all – but he had to, he couldn't let Tom go through with it and hit a brick wall.

  


"I found the ring." he finally blurted out, and Tom's smile fell a little.

  


"Oh."

  


"I know you're going to propose." Ian continued. "Possibly tonight, and I just... I..."

  


"You... You don't want to." Tom said, barely above a whisper.

  


It wasn't a question, he just seemed to know.

  


"I can't." Ian finally confessed. "I'm already married."

  


"Oh."

  


Both of them were silent for a while, Tom looking down at his tablet, and Ian looking at him. He hated that. He had hated seeing this look on Trevor's face back then, and he was hating seeing it on Tom's face now. The look of understanding that he was never fully theirs, that there had always been someone else.

  


"What kind of married?" Tom asked, which took Ian slightly aback.

  


"Sorry?"

  


"Married like... To a woman to save appearances? Or to a random drunk person you met in Vegas? To a foreigner who needed a Green Card? Or, you know, to someone you actually loved?"

  


Ian's short silence seemed to answer in his place as Tom just nodded his head in defeat. The redhead took a step forward and opened his mouth, ready to explain, but Tom just snapped him shut.

  


"You should go take your shower."

  


And Ian did, he left the room, and went to take the shortest shower in his entire life, eager to make things right with Tom, or at least apologized. When he came back into the kitchen, the other man was washing the dishes, and Ian knew he did that when he was upset or stressed out, so he sat on a chair and waited. Tom washed one more pan before he turned around and leaned against the sink.

  


"So," he started. "What were you gonna do?"

  


"About what?" Ian asked sheepishly.

  


"Did you want to go back to them? Were you just passing time with me? Or is it actually over and you were thinking about divorcing but haven't had the chance?"

  


He seemed hopeful on that last possibility, and it made Ian's heart break a little. He didn't want to answer the question, but he also knew he owed Tom that much.

  


"I don't know where he is." he admitted. "My husband. I don't know where he is. We... We got married a couple of years back, a few months before I met you, and I... I left him not long after we... _'_ _tied the knot_ _'_."

  


He chuckled, trying to lighten the mood, but Tom stayed stoic.

  


"Were you manic?" he asked blankly, and Ian shook his head.

  


"No. I was... myself. It was my idea. I've been in love with him since I was 15, and I guess I wanted to make it official, to make sure we were always tied together no matter what. And maybe I also wanted to redeem myself."

  


"So why did you leave then?"

  


"Because I couldn't... I couldn't live the life he wanted us to live. I was scared I was being too much like my mother."

  


"You used the present." Tom stated.

  


"What?"

  


"You said you _have_ been in love with him since you were 15, not you _had_. You never said that to me."

  


"I... I did." Ian tried to argue, not sure it was his best defense at the moment.

  


"No you didn't. I said 'I love you', you said 'me too', but you never said the actual words."

  


Tom seemed to realize things as he said them, and Ian let him. There was only one person he had ever said _'I love you'_ to beside his siblings, and he hadn't been able to say it to Tom, but he had hoped the other man wouldn't notice.

  


"I thought it was because of your parents, of your family." Tom continued. "That it was just too hard to say those kind of words for you, so I settled for 'me too', but you actually... Did you ever even loved me at all?"

  


"Yes of course!"

  


Ian wasn't lying about that. He did love Tom, he just wasn't sure he had ever been _in love_ with him.

  


"But not like you love him?"

  


"I never... I never loved anybody like I love him..."

  


***

  


_Ian had never seen a 4th of July that wasn't hot and stuffy in Chicago. This city was too hot in the summer, too cold in the winter, and too windy most of the time. He wondered what Mexico was like..._

  


_He grabbed his packet of cigarettes and his phone from the kitchen counter, thinking about grabbing a pack of beers too, before settling on only taking one, and he made his way out of the door. He walked in the streets, sweating under his shirt, his belly full of hot dogs and burgers from the traditional neighborhood barbecue. He had hoped the nightfall would make the air cooler, but he had no such luck. He took his time, looking at the families in the gardens and the streets getting ready for the fireworks, at the children running around, and he felt his mind reaching some sort of well-deserved peace after the events of these past couple of weeks. He walked the familiar path, and finally turned around a block, ready to see the old and creepy abandoned buildings waiting for him, only to find an empty space. An empty space full of rocks, bricks and garbage, but no more abandoned buildings, and a sign announcing the future construction of a brand new residential tower in this very spot. Their safe place, their little piece of heaven on Earth where they had been together so many times had been brought down, destroyed, and it felt like a cruel twist of fate._

 


	5. Chapter 5

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I hope you will understand this chapter, because I went even further in the non-linear storyline. But I'm sure that, even if you don't get it at first, you will understand what's going on by the end of the chapter. Also, I'm sorry.

 

Milkoviches very often didn't look for trouble, but trouble kept finding them. And Mickey hated the Gallaghers for that. When things went well for them, they went out of their way to screw things up, but when things went well for the Milkoviches... well actually, things never went well for them... So Mickey was not surprised when, after settling in a comfortable enough routine and working at the garage for barely four months, things went south.

 

It started when he noticed shady guys bringing cars to get them only a little fixed and mostly repainted, but he didn't ask questions, he was glad to have a job and he wanted to keep it. Plus, it was not like he was a stranger to this kind of questionable behavior, so he kept his mouth shut. Things changed though when Pedro didn't show up one day and Mickey had to open the shop by himself.

 

He arrived right on time to start his shift, like everyday, and waited in front of the employee's door for a good hour before he accepted the idea that Pedro wouldn't show up. That, in itself, was unusual, Pedro was a steady, rock solid man, almost in his sixties, who had worked every single day of his life since he was old enough, he never missed a day, not even when he was sick – and Mickey was pretty sure the guy had never been sick. Mickey reached under the slab, in the small hole created by a broken piece, where he knew they kept a spare key, and opened the door. The garage was silent and dark, but nothing was out of the ordinary, except for the absence of Pedro, and Mickey got to work. Pedro never came. It was only the next day – another day of working alone – that Mickey started to understand what might have happened to his boss. He was about to close the shop and go home, when five guys entered the garage. They all looked like the kind of thugs Mickey and his brothers aspired to be back in Chicago, like the people they usually hang out – or 'did business' – with.

 

“The fuck do you want?”

 

They all looked at him with smirks on their faces, and one of them started to talk with a rather thick accent.

 

“We need driving. _En la mañana_ , you take a car and drive Manuel and Tony with _la mercancía_.”

 

“No thanks.” Mickey scoffed. “I'm not interested.”

 

He wanted a clean life for himself, he wasn't going to start driving drug dealers around, the two didn't quite match.

 

“ _Crees que tienes una opción, hombrecito?!_ ” the man started to laugh, before he took a piece of paper out of his pocket and started unfolding it, revealing Mickey's wanted poster from his prison escape. “This you, _sí_? You help us or I call my friends in... _como se dice_? FBI.”

  


*****

 

He didn't want to get out of bed. He knew it had been days, weeks maybe, and he wasn't depressed, he was just... blank. He didn't feel anything anymore. He stared at the wall all day long ; he heard people come in and out, talking to him ; he smelled the food being cooked and brought to his bedroom ; he even ate a little sometimes, when he wanted his siblings to go away. Time went by slowly and fast at the same time. He didn't know how long it had been, he just knew he had managed to numb himself into nothingness, into that ideal state in which he couldn't feel anything. He wasn't happy, but he wasn't sad either, so maybe it was the perfect place to be in.

 

One day a new voice filled the room. It wasn't his siblings, or Kev and V, but it was a voice he knew just as much as theirs.

 

“Hey.” it said softly. “Can I join you?”

 

Ian nodded slowly, and he felt the mattress dip. Thin arms wrapped around his body, and long hair came to tickle the skin of his neck. And as he breathed in the new and familiar scent, a tear rolled down his cheek.

 

“I don't know what to do.” he admitted, his voice low and hoarse from not talking enough. “I don't know how to live anymore.”

 

“I don't know either.” Mandy answered in a whisper, wetting the collar of Ian's shirt with her tears.

  


***

  


Mickey had been held at gun point and shot several times in his life. So this – the leader of a rival gang threatening Manuel, Jorge and, by extension, Mickey – wasn't anything new. Things had escalated quickly. At first, Mickey had only been 'hired' – or rather 'used' – to drive them around from times to times, but now – almost two years later – he was basically doing all of their dirty work and ended up in situations like this one. And always with the threat of using his fugitive status against him. He had thought several times about just leaving, running and never looking back, but somehow he knew that these guys were more efficient and dangerous than the American police looking for him, it wouldn't be that easy to hide. Sometimes he thought about letting them report him to the FBI or whoever their 'friends' were and face his sentence in prison, but he also knew Jorge would probably put a bullet through him first – and by now he was pretty sure Pedro was buried behind his garage for refusing to cooperate.

 

Most of the bullets Mickey had taken in his life were because of Ian fucking Gallagher. Shot by a coward towelhead, by _a fucking drunk old lady_ , and chased around with a gun by Frank Gallagher's most psycho spawn. Not to mention his father. No, let's not mention him indeed. But, all in all, those were almost _good_ memories compared to the situation he was in at the moment. Taking a bullet in a country he fucking hated and didn't belong to, because of some stupid drug war he hadn't even chosen to participate in, that just fucking sucked. Lucky for him, Manuel was smarter than most of the guys Mickey had worked with in the past, and the scene didn't end in a blood bath. And Mickey got out alive without a scratch. This time. But he knew it wouldn't last, it just couldn't. And that's when the idea came to him.

  


_***_

  


The car stopped at a safe distant from the border, pulling on the shoulder of the road, in the crispy dirt. The car was a little beat-up and seemed to have a few years under its belt, but it was still new enough to be able to handle the long several-days trip to the Mexican border. The driver climbed out of the vehicle, a pack of beer and a packet of cigarettes in hand, and he sat on the hood of the car, executing the action absentmindedly, the passenger joining him only a few seconds later. They each drank their beer slowly, passing a cigarette back and forth.

 

Mandy had her hair tied in a pony tail to keep her neck fresh in this heat, and Ian was wearing the shirt he remembered having on the last time he saw Mickey.

 

“So, that's where you left him?” Mandy asked, finishing her beer and opening a new one.

 

“Yeah.” Ian nodded.

 

There was no need to tell her how much he regretted it now. Mandy knew. And she didn't need to tell him either that she wished she had visited her brother in prison more often, or that she regretted not reaching out more after she dumped Kenyatta and came back to Chicago. Ian knew.

 

“Do you think he was happy?” she asked. “Alone in Mexico? Do you think he managed to have at least a few good moments there?”

 

“I don't know.” Ian shook his head. “I hope he did.”

 

He didn't want to be too full of himself and pretend Mickey couldn't be completely happy without Ian in the same way Ian was never completely happy without Mickey, but he also knew there might be some semblance of truth in that statement. It was not like they could ask him anymore anyway.

 

Ian choked on a sob and sent his empty bottle flying and crashing on the ground a few feet ahead of them.

 

“I should have gone with him!” he half screamed.

 

“What didn't you?” Mandy asked without judgment.

 

“Because I wasn't ready.” Ian answered slowly. “I needed to stay in Chicago a little longer to finish getting my life together. I wasn't ready to quit my job just yet, and the routine I was just getting used to.”

 

“So you made the right decision.” Mandy stated.

 

“But... maybe if I had been there...”

 

“Don't tell me you would have been able to keep him from dying! That's just bullshit and you know it! You would have probably died with him!”

 

“Maybe that's not such a bad thing...”

 

Ian had expected Mandy to hit him in the arm as hard as she did, but it still hurt.

 

“Don't say shit like that Ian Gallagher! I won't let you pull some Romeo and Juliet drama bullshit! I still need you here!”

 

“Do you though?”

 

“Of course I fucking do! You're my boyfriend and I still need you to protect me!”

 

Ian laughed for the first time in what felt like forever.

 

“You never actually needed me to protect you Mands. You're tough as hell and you know it.”

 

“Still.” the woman replied, resting her head on her friend's shoulder. “I need you.”

 

***

 

The man was cliché as hell, with a tattoo covering most of his face and a big scar next to his mouth. His jet black hair were slicked back and his small dark eyes were injected with blood. He looked like the typical gang leader of a medium drug ring in Mexico.

 

Mickey parked the car according to the wide gestures that one of the gorillas did in his direction, and he glanced quickly at Juan next to him. He was just a kid and didn't deserve what was about to happen to him but, as hard as Mickey had tried, he hadn't managed to convince him to stay home. So here he was, sitting next to Mickey in a dirty old Jeep full of drugs in the middle of the Mexican desert, trying to hide his shaking hands. Mickey reached for the gun hidden under his seat and tucked it in the waistband of his jeans, covering it with his shirt, before unlocking the door and stepping outside. He walked slowly but confidently to the cliché man, Juan following close behind, and stopped a few feet in front of him.

 

“It's all there?”

 

“Yes.” Mickey nodded.

 

The man gestured to one of his guys to go check. Mickey stayed still and silent, scanning his environment as fast as possible, looking for all the blocked exits, the traps and everything that could go wrong. The list was long.

 

“Let the kid go.” he heard himself say before he think twice about it. “We don't need him.”

 

The man laughed dryly and Mickey knew he had made a mistake. What happened next happened fast, the henchman came back from the car, a few words were exchanged, weapons were taken out, and Mickey found himself facing the barrel of a gun. That was it. It all came down to this very moment.

  


***

  


After he had broken up with Tom, Ian had moved back in the Gallagher household. It felt both like a huge step-down and like the comfort of familiarity he needed. And it felt good to be surrounded by his siblings again. The Gallaghers were a pack of wolves, they never did well when separated from each other for too long. But that day, that day he hated them.

 

He closed the door behind himself, coming back from work early, and walked to the kitchen for a much needed beer. He slowed down and came to a full stop when he heard Lip and Fiona's voices talking about something that triggered his attention.

 

“I heard he was in Mexico, and he either had a rundown with the feds, or joined a drug cartel. I don't know which one is the real story.”

 

“And he was shot?”

 

“Yeah.”

 

“Have you told Ian?”

 

“No yet. I'm not sure how he's going to take it.”

 

“That Mickey's dead? Probably not so well.”

 

Ian took a step forward to reveal himself to his siblings.

 

“What?”

 

“Ian!” Fiona jumped. “Back from work already? I thought you had the night shift?”

 

“The schedule changed last minute. What did you just say?”

 

Lip and Fiona exchanged a look, and the oldest Gallagher reached a hand toward her brother.

 

“Ian, sweetie, it appears that Mickey was still in Mexico and he... He was killed, I'm sorry.”

 

There was nothing and everything at the same time. The room started spinning. There were noises, voices. Ian could feel his hands shake, and he knew his knees had hit the floor at some point, but everything else was blurry. He wasn't sure if he was crying, or screaming. Maybe both, maybe neither. His chest felt tight. He couldn't breathe. There were arms around him, probably Fiona's. Somebody was talking to him, probably Lip. He wanted it to stop. He wanted everything to stop, the pain, the fast pounding of his heart, the people busying themselves around him. It needed to stop.

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I am... so fucking sorry. But please, PLEASE, bear with me. I know it's hard and you feel devastated right now, but I'm asking you to trust me.  
> (and yes, this was planned from the beginning, I didn't just come up with the 'killing Mickey' trope to make you suffer today because I feel like it, I'm not that cruel)


	6. Chapter 6

 

_Two years, three months and thirty days since Mickey's death._

_Four years, eight months and sixteen days since Ian left Mickey at the Mexican border._

  


  


He woke up when the sun started to pour through the window, and stayed still in bed for a while. Time had passed and healed all injuries. Or almost. There was always this dull moment early in the morning when his heart still ached from the loss, and the emptiness filled him almost entirely. It never lasted for long, but these five minutes were usually the most painful of his day.

 

He felt the arm hanging loosely around his naked body, and shrugged it away. Tom knew Ian didn't like to be touched in the morning, in that moment when he indulged himself in the grief and mourning he usually kept hidden, so he took his hand away and rolled on the other side. Ian took a deep breath and kept his eyes closed for another minute, picturing blue eyes, jet black hair and knuckle tattoos. He had managed to come to the point where the memory made him smile now, even if he still had to swallow back his tears sometimes, like today. He forced his eyes open and sat up, letting the sheets slide off his skin, running a hand over his face. He let a yawn escape and stood up, walking to the bathroom to start his morning routine. He could do this.

 

 

_"How you doing?" the question was mundane, casual, the type of question an ex ask to another when they see each other again after a while, but Ian had heard this question so many times in the past few months that he hated it now, so he just shrugged, ready to walk away, when a hand grabbed his elbow._

 

_"You okay?" Tom asked again, sounding more concerned this time._

 

_Ian stopped his movement and looked back at his ex._

 

_"You haven't heard?" he wondered, surprised because everybody in his life so far seemed to know he was a widower._

 

_"Heard what?" Tom insisted. "In case you haven't noticed we don't exactly run in the same circles, and we don't really have any friends in common."_

 

_That was true. Maybe Tom really didn't know, but Ian wasn't sure he had the strength to tell him._

 

_"I... I'm not married anymore."_

 

_That wasn't exactly true, Ian still considered himself married, but he just... didn't have a husband anymore._

 

_"Oh." Tom replied. "Oh!"_

 

_His face seemed to lightened up just slightly with possibilities, and it made Ian laugh. It also gave him the courage to open up more._

 

_"I didn't divorce him, if that's what you're hoping." he added. "In fact, I didn't actually choose to... loose him..."_

 

_"Shit. Fuck, I'm sorry." Tom stuttered, apparently understanding the underlying message behind the redhead's words. "I don't know what to say... Shit. What... What happened?"_

 

_Ian shrugged. If only he knew. But the police had only mentioned some vague shooting gone wrong, the redhead wasn't even sure they knew themselves._

 

 

"So, how things are going with Tom?" Mandy asked as she grabbed her coffee from the barista.

 

She knew her friend had seen his ex that day, and even though she still wasn't sure about this – about Ian going back to Tom after everything that had happened – she had to admit the redhead seemed slightly more happy lately, or less lonely at least, and less gloomy.

 

"Okay I guess." Ian shrugged. "Still a little weird, we have this big thing between us, separating us in a way, like..."

 

"A ghost?"

 

"Yeah." Ian chuckled. "Exactly like a ghost. We're this close to a literal ghost."

 

Mandy hinted a smile and sipped some of her coffee. She had something to share on that matter, but she was afraid her friend would think she was going crazy.

 

"I... What if I told you I... I sort of... see him sometimes?" she tried.

 

Ian looked back at her with this soft expression he usually reserved for her, the expression that meant he was her best friend and would always be there for her, the expression that meant that he loved her no matter what.

 

"I see him too." he said lowly. "Not like a real full-on-chair ghost, but I have these images of him that come back to me."

 

"Me too." Mandy replied, uneasy.

 

She wanted to add that she also sometimes really saw her brother like he was in the room next to her, like he wasn't really dead, that she had seen him a couple of times outside her apartment building as she was going to work, or following her when she was out late at night, or just randomly when she was doing grocery shopping or meeting a friend, but she was pretty sure it was her way of grieving, and she also knew that Ian wasn't ready to hear that, that he would probably lose himself in Mandy's theories and would do anything in his power to prove they weren't only theories, and she didn't want to do that to him, he had gone through too much to get to the semblance of peace he lived in now.

 

 

***

 

 

_"So," Mandy started as she sat heavily on the couch in the Gallagher living room. "How are things going with the 'mystery man'?"_

 

_Ian blew some smoke away and passed her the joint._

 

_"Okay." he shrugged._

 

_"Have you seen 'the look' yet?"_

 

_Ian grabbed the TV remote and started flicking through the channels searching for Family Guy, purposefully ignoring her. It made Mandy sit up straighter,_ _a_ _small smile on her face._

 

_"You did, didn't you?"_

 

_"No." Ian shook his head, having trouble hiding his own smile. "Well... Maybe..."_

 

_Mandy laughed and hit his arm lightly._

 

_"What are you waiting for? Tell me!"_

 

_Ian took the joint back and smoke some of it, sitting more comfortably on the couch._

 

_"You know that old guy I was seeing?"_

 

_"Yeah, Jimmy's dad, everybody knows how he_ _tried to go balls deep on_ _Lip a couple nights ago!"_

 

_Ian laughed and rolled his eyes._

 

_"Yeah, well I kinda broke up with him some time before that, when... 'the other guy' beat the shit out of him for being with me."_

 

_"Ouh... Romantic." Mandy stated, ironically._

 

_"It kinda was though. I mean I was pissed at first, but seeing him so jealous, t'was really sexy."_

 

_Ian_ _raised his eyebrows in a suggestive manner, and Mandy laughed._

 

_"When am I gonna meet that guy?" she sighed with a smile._

 

_She wanted to know the guy that made her best friend so happy._

 

 

***

 

 

The first few times Ian was called in for a gun wound, shooting, or anything related to guns and shootings, after, well after Mickey died – let's call things as they are – he wasn't able to correctly respond. It reminded him too much of what had happened, and he let himself being submerged by his emotions, affecting his work. Now though, now he was back to normal, and he barely thought about black hair and blue eyes as he took care of this 14-year-old who was shot in the stomach by his neighbor, or best friend, or whoever was that other 14-year-old who had reached for the gun first.

 

"Fucking asshole is a dead man!" the kid shouted. "I'm gonna find him and aim better than the fucking stomach! Can't even aim right! Shit!"

 

"Stop fucking moving." Ian sighed, exasperated, as the kid kept wiggling around. "If you want to live to kill your friend, you need to let me do my job."

 

"Not my fucking friend."

 

Ian rolled his eyes. He couldn't care less about their relationship, all he wanted was to save his patient. He finally managed to stabilize him, and, with Sue's precious help, they drove him to the nearest hospital. Just as the hospital staff took over, their radio buzzed awake, calling them for a car accident not far from where they were.

 

"I hate people." Ian groaned. "Always getting hurt stupidly, and hurting other people even more stupidly."

 

"Agreed." Sue nodded. "Humans are a mess."

 

 

***

 

 

_"You've seen Ian?" Mickey snapped as he closed the door shut behind him._

 

_Mandy didn't move from where she was half lying with Kenyatta on the couch._

 

_"Didn't he sleep here last night?" she asked with a yawn._

 

_"Bitch of a wife made him leave." Mickey groaned._

 

_Mandy_ _looked at him go to his bedroom_ _, before_ _she_ _decided to stand up and join him. She l_ _eaned_ _against the wall, watching her brother light a cigarette, looking pissed as hell._

 

_"He really loves you, you know." she said with a small smile._

 

_"The fuck you're talking about?!" Mickey replied with what was probably supposed to be a threatening tone but sounded more hopeful than anything._

 

_"Ian." Mandy rolled her eyes. "Before he left, before you got married, he often talked about this 'mystery guy' he was dating. He wouldn't tell me your name, but he always had a smile on his face when he was mentioning you, and I can't even remember how many times he told me he wanted more, that he really wanted to be with you."_

 

_Mickey stayed silent for a little while,_ _absorbing_ _the information, before he looked up and met his sister's gentle eyes looking straight at him, and he put his tough exterior back on._

 

_"The fuck are you telling me that for?"_

 

_Mandy sighed. Her brother was such an idiot – and her best friend might not actually be much better in that department._

 

_"Cause if you love him too, you need to go find him wherever he is and do everything you can to make this shit show of a relationship work!"_

 

 

***

 

 

There was a car upside down across the road and another one encased into it. Some smoke was coming out of the vehicles, but the firefighters were already working on stopping a possible fire and cutting through the metallic carcasses. Sue and Ian first headed to the upside down car, as it looked like the one with the more damages, but some of their colleagues were already taking care of the injured driver, and they directed them to the other car. It seemed in a slightly better shape and had apparently tried to stop when the other had rolled around, but was just a little too late. Sue opened the driver's door and started doing the routine check-up. The driver was responsive, although a little groggy, and Sue turned to Ian, asking for the cervical collar. The redhead walked around the car and opened the passenger door, kneeling on the passenger seat to tend to his patient. The man was resting his head against his seat, his eyes closed, a little blood running down his face, and Ian tried not to think about how much this guy reminded him of Mickey – in blond, with fancier clothes and no knuckle tattoos.

 

"Sir, can you tell me your name?" Ian asked as he leaned over and slid a hand behind his patient's neck to put the collar in place. “Do you know what happened?”

 

When he heard his voice, the man suddenly opened his eyes, widening them a little in what appeared like surprise, and Ian sat back in shock.

 

“Shit.”

 

The redhead sat there for what seemed like forever, looking back at these blue eyes he knew how too well.

 

“Gallagher!” Sue snapped at one point. “The fuck are you doing?”

 

“I... uh... nothing.” he stuttered, going back to do his job, his movements suddenly slower and more careful. “You're gonna be okay.” he muttered, not sure who he was actually talking to – maybe just himself. “You're gonna be okay.”

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Told you to trust me! ;)  
> (and no, this is not a ghost story)


	7. Chapter 7

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Sorry for the wait. I hope these 2433 words make up for it.

 

After everything, everything he had been through to be free, completely free, Mickey had to get into a stupid car accident! It wasn't even his fault, the other jackass had somehow lost the control of his own car and rolled around the road, causing Mickey to crash into him. And of course (of fucking course!), of all the paramedics in the town of Chicago he had to be taken in charge by the only one he didn't want and had tried to avoid for the past two years!

  
"You're gonna be okay. You're gonna be okay." Gallagher muttered as he tended to Mickey's wounds way too softly.

  
"Can you hurry the fuck up?" Mickey groaned. "Got somewhere to be!"

  
"You can't go anywhere like that." the annoying redhead replied. "We have to drive you to the hospital to be seen by a doctor."

  
"Like hell!" Mickey cried. "I'm fine and I'm already late!"

  
"Mi..." Gallagher started to plead before he was interrupted.

  
"Alek." Mickey – Alek- snapped. "My name's Alek."

  
The EMT's face hardened.

  
"Okay Alek." he said more coldly. "You're hurt. You need to go to the hospital. And I will drag your ass there if I need to."

  
"Gallagher." his partner chipped in, authoritative. "What's going on with you today? If the patient is refusing treatment you can't force him, and even less threaten him."

  
The redhead's eyes traveled between his partner and Mickey, going back and forth a few times. Mickey knew this look, he had seen it a few times before, Gallagher was supposed to let go but it was painful for him to do so, everything in his body told him to keep pushing. He seemed lost as what to do next, and his green eyes pleaded with Mickey for some time, but Mickey looked away, he wasn't going to lose this battle. Not today, not like that. And he heard Gallagher sighed, before he retreated from Mickey's car and went away. Mickey's heart screamed for him not to go away, but he forced himself not to listen, he needed to leave. Mandy was going to have his head for this, but he needed to.

  
***

  
"You did what??!!!?" Mandy yelled from the top of her lungs, jumping from the couch to look at her brother with daggers in her eyes. "Do you know how devastated he was when you 'died'? And when he finds out you're not you basically told him to go fuck himself? He's going to fucking lose it you asshole!!"

  
Mickey ignored the pain in his stomach at the idea, and took a sip of his beer as casually as possible.

  
"Why didn't you tell him before then if you're so concerned?"

  
The question earned him a big bruise on the arm from where Mandy's fist hit him with force.

  
"Because you asked me not to tell him, dickhead, and for some reason I listened to you!"

  
Mickey shrugged, rubbing his arm lightly, and Mandy shook her head. She was fuming with rage.

  
"I... I'm so fucking mad right now." she hissed.

  
She threw her hands in the air and left her brother's apartment, slamming the door behind herself. Mickey knew he hadn't handled the situation in the best way possible, but he had absolutely not planned on seeing Ian again, especially not like that – maybe some nights when he felt really lonely he had imagined some epic reunion with tears, sex and love declarations, but that's not the point – and he didn't know how to explain to the redhead everything that had happened to him these past four years.

  
***

  
Mandy paced back and forth in front of Mickey's building, keeping herself from going back up there and ripping his head off. If it had been a shock for her to find out her brother was still alive after she had had suspicions for months, she couldn't even imagine how Ian was feeling. The redhead had no clue before that day, Mandy had made sure of that, and for him to find out that way must have been terrible. She sighed. Mickey was an asshole, but he was so in love with his redhead and had basically done all of this to be with him without being capable of telling him so. She couldn't stay mad at him for too long, poor thing was barely in control of his own actions. So she shook her head, and headed toward the L. She jumped on the first blue line train and got out at Ian's stop. She didn't know if he was done with work yet, but she was ready to wait for him. She climbed all the way up to his apartment and knocked. After receiving no answer, she sat, her back against the door, and waited. Ian arrived about an hour later, when the sky had started to go black, a small sway in his steps, he was clearly drunk. He was looking at the floor as he walked – not straight – and only stopped when he arrived in front of his door, his eyes landing on Mandy. There was a moment of silence between them as they had a full conversation with their eyes, and then Ian looked away, reaching for the keys in his pocket.

  
"Fuck off." he slurred, struggling to unlock his door.

  
Mandy stood up and helped him without a word. When the door finally opened, the redhead walked in, ignoring Mandy, but he didn't close the door on her face, so she followed him inside. He went directly to his bed and crashed on it, closing his eyes. Mandy sat next to him, back against the headboard, kicking her shoes off.

  
"You knew didn't you?" he asked, his voice low and muffled by the pillow.

  
"Yeah." she answered just as softly.

And seconds later he was asleep.

  
***

  
Ian woke up with a headache, still fully clothed, and laying on the stomach across his bed. It took him a moment to remember how he had ended up like this, and when everything came back to him he wished he had a bottle of vodka at hand's reach. He kept his head buried in his pillow and emitted a sound between a sigh and a whimper. That's when he heard footsteps coming toward him, and spotted the nice smell of coffee. He raised his head and opened his eyes to see Mandy leave a steaming cup on his bedside table.

  
"Thanks." he mumbled, and she nodded her head with a smile.

  
"Thought you might need it."

  
Ian sat up and massaged his temples.

  
"Any chance you slipped some whiskey in there?"

  
"I think you had enough of that last night."

  
"I disagree. I don't think there's enough alcohol in the world to help me cope. And forget..."

  
Mandy was silent for a while, looking down at her feet.

  
"Why didn't you tell me?"

  
"T'wasn't my place."

  
Ian laughed, a dry, humorless laugh.

  
"Fuck you Mandy. That's the lamest excuse I ever heard you use."

  
"He asked me not to tell you." she tried to defend herself.

  
Ian sat up straighter, his headache completely forgotten.

  
"I thought he was fucking dead Mandy! Dead!!! Do you even know how that feels or were you in on it this whole time?"

  
"Of course I fucking know how it feels, I thought he was dead too! I only found out a few months ago."

  
"So you should have told me! Because you knew! YOU knew! You knew I was fucking dying myself! You listened to me, you helped me move on, told me to get out more often, but you know what would have REALLY helped? Knowing Mickey was alive all along!!!"

  
Mandy had tears in her eyes, but Ian ignored it, he was too mad to care. He was now standing up on his bed, angry, the color of his face matching his hair.

  
"I'm sorry." Mandy muttered. "I wanted to tell you, but Mickey convinced me not to. Now if you're really that mad, you can go yell at him, he'll be happy to yell back at you with his reasons!"

  
And with that, she left, not looking back, and Ian started to feel a little bad for screaming at her like that. True, it wasn't entirely her fault, but still. He let his body fall back on the bed, and sighed. He almost wished he was back to yesterday morning, when grief was the only thing he had to deal with and life was easier, but, on the other hand, Mickey was alive. _Shit._ He laid back down, his head hitting the pillow just as his phone rang with an incoming text. He grabbed the device and opened the message. It was Mandy giving him Mickey's address.

  
***

  
Mickey hadn't slept that night. At all. Mandy's words were circling again, and again, and again in his brain. "He was devastated." "He's going to fucking lose it." _Fuck. What had he done?_

  
Ian had broken up with him. Ian had barely visited him in prison. Ian had left him at the Mexican border. And yet, yet Mickey wanted nothing more than to be with him. He had spent the past four years being alternatively angry, sad and pretending not to care. And now, now he was just pacing in his living room. He had been so sure not telling Ian was the best solution for everyone, it allowed them both to move on, but at this very moment it fucking hurt and he couldn't help but feeling incredibly guilty. _Fuck. Fuck. Fuck._ He could already hear Mandy and her annoying "you know what to do", so he grabbed his keys, his phone, and his pack of cigarette, and he headed out, following the address Mandy had texted him.

  
***

  
He hesitated right in front of the door. He had smoked almost an entire pack of cigarettes on the way there, but it hadn't calm his nerves in the slightest. His fist brushed the wood, and he finally knocked. Three sharp knocks, and the door opened quite quickly. Ian was wearing a simple pair of jeans and a wrinkled shirt. His hair was ruffled on top of his head, and he looked like he hadn't slept much, but also like he was already pissed.

  
"Hi." Mickey tried tentatively with a timid smile.

  
Ian took a deep breath, he seemed about three seconds away from closing the door to his face.

  
"So you even knew where I lived." he finally spat, his hand gripping the wood frame tighter.

  
"No, I... Mandy just sent me your address." Mickey said.

  
Ian seemed to relax just a little bit.

  
"Yeah, she sent me yours too." he admitted.

  
They stood there in silence, in front of Ian's open door, for a long time. The redhead didn't look ready to talk, he just stared intently and angrily at Mickey, so Mickey knew he had to take the first step, he had come all the way here after all.

  
"Can I... Can I talk to you?"

  
There was a good thirty seconds of more quiet staring before Ian opened his door wider and stepped aside, muttering a low "Okay."

  
Mickey walked in, taking a quick look around at the messy loft. There was a couch on one side, with a small coffee table facing a large TV, and empty takeout boxes and cartons scattered around. The bed was on the other side, with an old dresser, a wooden screen separating the bedroom space from the living area, clothes were on the floor, the sheets were crumpled and a mostly empty cup of coffee sat on one of the bedside tables. The kitchen was in the back, and there was a door on the right, probably leading to the bathroom. Mickey turned toward Ian, who was standing against the wall, tall and silent, his arms crossed against his chest.

  


"So, I'm not really dead." Mickey started lamely.

  


"I kinda figured that one out myself." Ian said bluntly, unamused.

  


"Yeah. Well I had the idea back in Mexico, and I knew some guys, it was easy to make it all happen, and I figured it was the only way to get the Feds off my back."

  


Ian nodded. His lack of words were baffling to Mickey, and he could feel the anger radiating from the other man's body.

  


"And when I came back to Chicago," he continued. "You had moved on so I figured I'd leave you alone. But I couldn't help making sure Mandy was okay, and she, well she kinda saw me and cornered me. By the way my name is Alek now. Alek Davis."

  


Still more silence.

  


"Could you fucking say something now?"

  


Ian broke his stance, taking a step toward Mickey.

  


"Oh you want me to say something?" he asked, harshly, taking another step forward. "I thought you were dead!" His hands landed on Mickey's chest in a hard hit, pushing Mickey backward. "Fucking dead!" Another hit. "And you didn't tell me?!" Another hit, pushing Mickey against the wall. "And you kept Mandy from telling me?!"

  


This time, the hands formed fists, gripping Mickey by the shirt and crashing his back against the wall once again. And Mickey pushed back, getting the redhead out of his personal space.

  


"Could you stop fucking hitting me? I did what I thought was best!"

  


Ian laughed dryly.

  


"What you thought was best, huh?"

  


He made a move to hit Mickey again, but the now-blond man was faster, capturing Ian's wrists in his hands to stop the blow, raising his eyebrows and biting his lips in his best annoyed face. Ian struggled for a while, trying to take back the power, until he managed to return the situation and pin Mickey's hands against the wall above their heads.

  


"Fuck you."

  


And, just like that, Ian's lips were on Mickey's. It would have been extremely cliché on Mickey's part to say that he was finally breathing for the first time in four years, but that was exactly how he felt. Their fingers intertwined, and their tongues met, when Mickey heard a sob and the kiss felt way too wet. He broke it, looking back at Ian.

  


"Are you fucking crying?"

  


The redhead hung his head low, not meeting Mickey's stare.

  


"I thought you were dead." he muttered, still sounding a little bit angry.

  


Mickey reached for Ian's arm and wrapped him in a tight hug, stroking his red hair gently.

  


"I missed you so fucking much." Ian mumbled in the crook of Mickey's neck.

  


"I missed you too." Mickey admitted in a whisper.

 


	8. Chapter 8

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I'm so sorry I was away for so long, but I'm back now with this confusing non-linear narration of a fic.

 

Clothes flew around the room, lips connected to lips, bodies were touched in every inch of skin possible, and only moans were exchanged. They still knew each other by heart, having memorized everything that made the other sigh, squeal or shiver. They had sex slowly and hard, in every available surface in Ian's apartment. They fucked, made love, and alternated between the two, sometimes angry, sometimes on the verge of tears. They stopped only to eat the order-in pizza, or to discuss Ian's recent "MM" tattoo on the side of his hip. Mickey traced it with his fingers, kissed it, sucked on the skin just above it, made it his, also reclaiming the redhead in the process.

  
They spent hours there, only the two of them, maybe days, or even months, who's counting anyway? They might or might not have missed work, but they couldn't have cared less, they were happy.

  
***

  
Mickey woke up before the sun, Ian clinging to him like his life depended on it, like if his hold was just a little looser Mickey would disappear again – Mickey couldn't blame him, he had felt the same way in the past, every time he got Ian back after a long separation – and as he tried to turn, Ian brought him closer, mumbling something incomprehensible in his sleep. Mickey still managed to get enough space to shift his position and face him, and he watched the redhead sleep for a while. He looked so peaceful, and content. Mickey couldn't help himself, he softly stroke his cheek, pushing a stray of red hair to the side, and he kissed his lips slowly. Ian emitted a small sound, in between a sigh and another incomprehensible word, and he opened his eyes slowly, not letting go of Mickey.

  
"Morning Mick."

  
"Morning Gallagher."

  
Ian smiled when Mickey kissed him again.

  
"It's not even sun out." the redhead noticed.

  
"I know." Mickey smiled back.

  
He was just happy to stay here, in this comfortable hold, in Ian's bed, enjoying this moment of peace and quiet, and it could have worked if Ian's loud alarm hadn't come ruin the silence.

  
"Fuck." Ian groaned, letting go of Mickey to turn it off, and sitting up, his back against the wall.

  
"What the fuck man?" Mickey sighed. "It's like 4am..."

  
"Early morning shift." Ian replied, his eyes fixed on his phone. "Shit."

  
Mickey sat up too, rubbing his eyes. He wanted to ask what was wrong, but a part of him also wanted to pretend he didn't care, so he just raised his eyebrows, trying to convey everything he was feeling with just this small action. Ian's eyes didn't leave his phone, and he scratched his own eyebrow.

  
"I... uh... Kinda was supposed to go on a date last night." he admitted lowly.

  
And just like that, Mickey remembered why he hadn't wanted Mandy to tell Ian he was alive and well, the redhead had moved on, he was living his own life and didn't need Mickey in it.

  
"Tom, right?" he asked, already knowing the answer.

  
"How do you...?"

  
Mickey stood up and started to grab his clothes scattered all around the floor.

  
"Mandy told me." he said, his heart breaking again at the memory of this conversation with his sister.

  
"Mick, I..." Ian started, leaving his bed to follow after the other man, but Mickey interrupted him.

  
"No, it's fine." he stated, trying to keep a straight face even though his heart was screaming otherwise. "You thought I was dead, you moved on, that's exactly why I stayed away."

  
He finished putting his clothes on and headed toward the door.

  
"You should enjoy it you know, being free from all my shit. No feds or Mexican drug lords to run from, no new identity to keep on the down low, no fake ID. You got a boyfriend you can introduce to your family and go on fucking vacations with or whatever."

  
He patted his pockets, making sure he had everything, and glanced one last time toward the redhead while opening the door.

  
"Mick I..."

  
***

  
The door closed on his face.

  
"... love you."

  
Ian stayed stuck in his spot for a long time. _Fuck._ Mickey had seemed so confident, and about 100% less angry than he usually was, uttering all these things like they were the most obvious things in the world, like there was no way around that, like it was the healthiest thing to do, and Ian was almost ready to believe him if his heart wasn't breaking into a million pieces right about now. He had so much he wanted to say, so much he wanted to apologize for and explain, but he also wanted to leave Mickey his space and he knew that running after him at that very moment would only end up in more tears and yelling he was ready to handle. As he sat on his couch and remembered the last thing he had done on it (getting his dick sucked right before being ridden by his favorite man in the world), he regretted not taking a small break in their fucking marathon to talk, to actually talk and say all they had to say to each other.

  
***

  
A week seemed like an appropriate amount of time to wait before going to Mickey's apartment – especially after all of his calls and texts had not been answered – but Ian was still apprehensive as he climbed up the stairs in the building Mandy had texted him was Mickey's address. He knocked on the door. Five times. Nobody answered. He hesitated. Was he going to wait until Mickey came back home? Yeah, he probably needed to do that. He knocked one more time, and tried the doorknob (just in case). The door wasn't locked. Ian pushed it open, thinking Mickey was probably home and avoiding him.

  
"The fuck..."

  
He had found himself in the emptiest apartment ever. He checked all the rooms. There was nothing, not one little thing. No way someone was living there. Ian doubled checked the address and the apartment number, running up and down the stairs three times, before he decided to call Mandy.

  
"He moved." she said.

  
"What?"

  
"Shithead took all of his stuff and moved in the middle of the night a few days ago."

  
"Where?"

  
"Don't know. He won't tell me, probably afraid I'd tell you. He just sent me a text telling me not to worry."

  
***

  
The envelope came about a week later. A big brown envelope with Ian's full name written ceremoniously on the front. And inside a quire of paper, all signed and outdated from over two years ago. Divorce papers. Technically, Ian didn't need them if he ever wanted to marry someone else (not that he would ever want to), he was still officially a widower. But the symbolic. The symbolic was too strong to keep his tears at bay.

  


  
_It was a basic courthouse in an average town in the middle of Texas. Stony floors,_ _walls that used to be white a long time ago, the flag of the country and the flag of the state, cowboys everywhere. When Ian Gallagher was fifteen years old and daydreaming – when he was really daring – that he was marrying Mickey Milkovich, it was in a nice venue with all of his friends and family around, or even at the Alibi (when he was slightly more realistic),_ _but never in the middle of fucking Texas surrounded by a bored-looking judge, a lady eating her egg sandwich lunch, and an old typist._

  
“ _I vow to never suck another_ _guy_ _'s cock.”_

  
“ _Come on Mick, be serious.”_

  
“ _I am serious, I never did and I never will.”_

  
“ _Okay then, I vow to get a matching 'Mickey Milkovich' tattoo. With a typo.”_

  
“ _Fuck you man.”_

  
  


***

  
"I'm getting married." she said in between sips of her drink.   
"That's great!" he exclaimed sincerely.   
"I want you to be my best man." she admitted, hoping for the best.   
"Of course." he answered. 

  
  
"I'm getting married." she said, grabbing the plate she was handed.   
"Bout fucking time!" he exclaimed with a smirk.   
"I want you to be there." she admitted, hoping for the best.   
"No fucking way." he answered.

 

**Author's Note:**

> Please leave kudos and/or comments. And you can also come talk and share with me on my [tumblr](http://ilostmylifeonline.tumblr.com/), it's always appreciated. :)


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